Never Shall We Die
by WenchElle
Summary: I'm not really sure what my original intention was on this...?
1. A Meeting with the Captain

**AN: **Yeah yeah, normal disclaimer…I don't own any of the rights or characters to PotC except my own...blahh. So as of now I don't have a whole lot of ideas of where I'm going with this. It's just coming out. Okay. Ere go story time.

_Yo ho, heave together,_

_Hoist the colours high…_

_Heave ho, thieves and beggars,_

_Never say we die…_

The lofty soprano voice floated like a whisper across the rolling tides. She sang and sang, despite the early hour. The young woman was sitting on the dock, watching the sunrise, like sparkling rubies on the smooth surface of the sea. The salty sea air whipped her long dark hair across her thin and pallid face. Her rather scrawny frame was draped over the wood, a bottle of rum clutched in one bony hand.

"Oy, you there!" a voice said, the words hitting the girl as though from a long way off. She turned to see a rather fat and smelly looking man striding towards her. "Take that pritty song somewhere else. There's work to be done 'ere." He belched loudly, engulfing her with the smell of rum and chewing tobacco. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, but nevertheless hoisted herself up and took her leave. Tortuga was indeed waking now, and it was time she got herself out of the way.

Making her way through the half empty streets, the lady searched for a place to sit and rest. Maybe today she could join a crew, get out to sea for once. It had been several weeks since she had sailed, after being kicked off the ship for a night of pleasure in the first mate's cabin. Not only was she now restless and bored, she was also lacking food and was quite penniless. Sighing, she swept into an inn titled _The Salty Wench_.

The inn was quiet, only housing three men, one at the bar and two in the corner with a bottle of rum and a long sheet of parchment. Their raised voices carried across the room. Even the barmaid stopped cleaning the filthy glass in her hand to watch the scene taking place.

"I'm honestly telling you, mate. If you can't be honest about your life at sea, then take your leave! You've no place on my crew!" shouted the mad behind the table, dark dreadlocks swinging as he stood to match his foe. The second man, large as he was, leered and stalked off. As the first sat back down and took a swig of rum, it was then that the young woman recognized his face.

"Jack Sparrow, what a sight to see," she purred, sauntering over to where he sat looking so dismayed. A thick French accent strung her speech together, along with the vast amount of rum she already drank this morning. "Don't tell me you have again lost your precious _Pearl_?"

"Captain, Captain Jack Sparrow, love," he said irritably "and it's not my ship I've lost, but my crew. I have lost a faithful crewmember. And I long to stir fear in these waters again…" he drifted off, humming, and staring into vacant space. The girl opened her mouth in a half smile and leaned forward over the parchment, so that her ocean green eyes were even with Jack's.

"Might there be room on that list for me then?" she whispered, long strands of spun onyx falling in her pallid face. Her sunken cheeks and eyes made her face weary and gaunt looking. It was still pretty however, and she knew she had Jack wrapped around her finger before he even opened his mouth.

"In all fairness, you look like you could do with an extra ration of bread, mate. You sure you up to this kind of journey?" he asked, trying to mask his desire and sound convincing. His voice came out husky. Anger bubbled inside the girl. In a flash, a silver cutlass had been drawn from her belt, and was now pointing at the jugular of one Jack Sparrow. His eyes widened in surprise and crossed to keep the blade in view. "That's interesting," he gulped.

"You doubt my strength because of my size? You dare make light of my skill because of my height? Or is it something else? Is it because I am a _woman_?" She hissed, small yet imposing, slight yet fearful. Jack stood. He half laughed.

"I plan to make wind in two hours time. And I must say we'd be ever so inclined as to have you join us on our voyage. Welcome aboard then, Miss, uh…" he trailed off, a fake smile stretched across his face, and fear in his eyes.

"Mademoiselle," she said with a half smile, stowing her sword back in it's sheath. "Mademoiselle Geneviève du Mer."

**AN:** Wow, this is the first story I've written in a WHILE! Feedback would be greatly appreciated! Merci!


	2. Hoist the Colours

**AN: **So I should probably let you guys know that I'm disregarding the end of _At World's End._ So we're pretending that someone else is now captain of the _Flying Dutchman._ But Lizzie and Will still got married.

It was a little while later, and Geneviève was standing on the dock, staring up in wonder of the _Black Pearl_, floating off in the bay. It's magnificent rigging, masts, and imposing black sheets made her feel very, very small. She could not believe that she was to sail on this ship of legend. And with a crew as legendary as the ship itself. Had they really once sailed to Davy Jones' Locker, and returned alive? Had they actually brought back the Court of the Pirate Brethren together to fight as one? Defeated the wrath of Lord Cutler Beckett, so they said. The old wives and everyone else in the Caribbean told these stories. Now Geneviève would finally have an opportunity to see if these tales of grandeur were actually true.

Geneviève began to pace. Slowly, men began to mill around her, including a variety of odd folk. There was one who barely reached her knee, another who had a fake eyeball. There was even one with a very annoying parrot on his shoulder, that kept chattering away.

"Raaaaw, wind in your sails, wind in your sails," crooned the bird as Geneviève passed. She scowled and fingered her cutlass. Her patience was short. Where was Jack? His hour was nearly up and the girl was restless. How much longer would she have to wait before finally facing open ocean again?

Her pacing was finally cut short at the appearance of Jack and two others. On one side strode a woman, her fair hair tied back in a plait. Her stomach was slightly swelled from the child growing inside her. On the other, and Geneviève could not help but gasp when she saw him, was the most lovely man she had ever seen. His dark hair was pulled out of his expertly carved face, and his arms were strong and sleek. The hands with which he pulled out a sword were rough and callused from his hard work. He caught the eye of Geneviève, but she hurriedly looked away. Jack approached her, and spoke to the crew at large.

"Welcome back lads!" he thundered, looking pleased. "As you all very well know, we have been one crew member short since Lizzie took on the little one." There was a smattering of applause, and Elizabeth smiled at her shipmates and ran one hand over her protruding belly. Jack put one hand on Geneviève's shoulder. "This morning I rounded up this salty wench, however, and she has most graciously agreed to join our crew in Elizabeth's stead. Please allow me to be the first to introduce you all to Mademoiselle, Jon, Mary…"

"Geneviève du Mer," she laughed, smiling at the crew, who smiled back warmly.

"Yes, yes, dear Jenny," said Jack, clapping her on the back and taking a swig of rum. He meandered over to the dinghy and began to untie its bonds. "Come come, we haven't got all day, men!" he bellowed. Geneviève happened to glance back at Elizabeth, who was sharing a goodbye kiss with the dark haired man. The way he held her, his love, his tenderness…jealousy boiled inside of Geneviève for the same kind of goodbye kiss. Once everyone else was settled in the dinghy, Geneviève made a point to seat herself next to the man. His leg brushed hers as they began to row, and it sent shivers up her spine.

"Sorry," he said, and his voice was calm and beautiful. Geneviève was swooning on the inside. She was a slave to sex and love, and this half of her was stirring, though it still lay dormant in her soul.

"That's quite alright, Monsieur…" she trailed off.

"Turner. Will Turner," he said, and he smiled at her, extending his hand to grasp hers. She shook it, and nearly died, though her face was quite impassive.

"Enchanté, dear Will. I am 'onored to be sailing with notorious and gifted pirates. If the stories they say are true, then we are up to another adventure?" she asked playfully. Will laughed. His laugh was beautiful and hearty. Geneviève's heart swelled at the sound of it. She had never lusted over a man more.

"No, no. This will be a normal voyage, with a normal goal, normal plundering, and normally devoid of the undead," he snickered. They had reached the _Pearl._ All the crewmembers began to board the ship. Jack bellowed orders, the anchor was lifted, and the sheets were raised. They were setting off.

As they set a course for the horizon, Will could not have known how very wrong he was.


	3. A Lapse in Judgement

Geneviève's first few days on the _Black Pearl_ were probably some of the best that she ever experienced. The spray of the sea, the hard labor of sailing, nights on the ocean, all of this she had been craving for far too long. But what really made it worthwhile were the glimpses she caught of Will. Dear, dear Will. To her, his wife and unborn child might have been non-existent. Of course she thought of them, but never enough to stop the intensity of her lust. That same lust was also becoming gentler, softening into the sweetest form of love: longing. She wanted him and nothing would stop her.

As the days wore on, she and Will had sweet little chats during the normal ship work. Conversations about the weather and the plunder and the ship, the beautiful _Pearl. _ At first they were frequent and long. Will took an instant liking to Geneviève; it was like their personalities just clicked. Before long, Geneviève found herself comfortable around Will. She stopped swooning every time she saw him. He became more of a dear friend.

Besotted though she was with Will, Geneviève was not so blind to notice the extra attention she was also receiving from another crewmember. Somehow, she always found herself working in close range of Jack. He was witty and charming, but somehow didn't have the same effect on Geneviève as Will did. Still, he was always talking and boasting whenever with her. She found it intriguing.

It was a clear, fine evening, the day that found Geneviève and Will alone on the deck together the first time all voyage. Geneviève was reading in the sinking daylight when Will appeared onboard. She dog-eared her page and turned to smile eagerly at him. He grinned back.

"Good evening, Mlle. du Mer. You are well, I trust?" he said, joining her at the railing. She shook her head.

"Will, there are no need for such formalities. You may call me Jen," said Geneviève throatily, smiling sweetly. Feeling bold, she lightly placed one of her small hands onto his. Immediately she felt the effect of this small gesture. His whole body tensed and he removed his hand. His gaze left her and fell upon the waves, shoulders rigid and knuckles white on the wood. Geneviève faltered. "Is there something wrong?" she questioned, taking a step closer to him. He in turn took one away.

"No, nothing. I should get some rest. It will be my turn to steer soon. Good night," he squeaked, and with that he hurried back to his quarters. Geneviève reached out, his name caught in her throat. Scowling, she turned away, back to her book, which she no longer found intriguing. The sun really was set now, and she decided what she really needed was some rum. She made her way down to the cellar.

Picking around the bottles, Geneviève finally found one that was suited to her taste. She slid it out of its hole and weighed the amber bottle in her hands. She was just about to uncork it when she heard a voice behind her.

"I wouldn't want to be doing that if I were you, love," said the unmistakably rich voice of Jack Sparrow. He sidled over to her in his weird way and took the bottle from her hands.

"Curiosity, Mr. Sparrow. _Why_ wouldn't I want to be doing that?" she asked irritably, snatching the bottle back. He laughed and pulled a different bottle from the shelf.

"Testy tonight, aren't we darling? Well you'll get your rum. The proposition I'm offering is that you improve the quality of your drink. You see _this_," he said, turning the bottle in his hands "is much richer, better spiced, and well aged. Try this one." He smiled at her, gold teeth glinting. Geneviève shrugged. Swapping bottles, they both uncorked at the same time. Clinking together, Geneviève voiced a toast to the _Pearl_. Then they both drank heartily.

It was a night of many more bottles, laughs, jokes and toasts. They toasted everything from the wonderful ship they sank today to the ocean, to Tortuga, to Mister Gibbs, to rum itself. Geneviève usually could hold her liquor better, but tonight it only took her several bottles before she could not recollect anything.

Several hours later, Jen woke up sleepily. She did not open her eyes right away, as it was so wonderfully warm and dark. The musty smell of the boat, and of rum, surrounded her. Her head throbbed gently from her hangover, but it did not bother her much. Geneviève could have died like this and she wouldn't have cared, here in bed so comfortable and…

Naked. Vaguely, Geneviève came to realize she was naked. It was several moments after this that she felt the presence of another by her side. Eyes still closed, she reached out and glazed her fingertips over his chest. Definitely a man.

Finally, she became so worried that she had to sit up. "Will…?" she called out sleepily, opening her eyes and sitting up finally. It was definitely not Will whom was there.

Passed out and equally naked lying next to her was unmistakably Jack.


	4. Into the Sea

Horror shook all drowsiness out of Geneviève. She didn't know what to do or what to think. Jack… she should not have lured Jack into a false sense of security. She knew better. She _knew_. The effects of rum…

Jack was stirring. He let out a groan, the expanse of his back swelling. With a sigh, he rolled over. When saw Geneviève, he smiled passively.

"Aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Rough night and a poundin' headache to boot. But it was worth it in the end, eh?" he said. His breath smelled heavily of rum and that rather unpleasant flavor of morning after.

"You…you remember it then?" Geneviève whispered sheepishly. Her hands crept down to the sheets and she pulled them to her chest. Jack nodded, then leaned back against the headboard. A deep sigh rumbled from his chest.

"Will. You kept calling me Will," Jack sighed nonchalantly.

Geneviève snapped to attention. Her whole body went rigid. "I…what?"

"You heard me. William. You thought I was Will," said Jack, becoming more serious now. He turned to face her, his black ringed eyes boring into her skull. "Normally I would say just go for it. But I know Will and Elizabeth very well," he mused. "We are pirates, born to cheat and lie and steal. But this," he trailed off, and then sat straight up to face her. All effect of disinterest was gone, and there was angry fire in his eyes as he spoke again. "You know of dear Elizabeth. You met her. Will has a child on the way, a child that without, you would not be aboard this ship. Have you no pity?" Jack growled.

Jen hung her head in shame. But of course, she knew her wrong. It had haunted the back of her mind for almost the whole voyage. But to hear Jack speak of Elizabeth again gave her another dimension. Suddenly she seemed much more real to Geneviève. She had coveted another woman's husband, and she had never felt more ashamed in her life.

But then… Geneviève thought back on the first time she ever saw Will, so many days ago in Tortuga. Elizabeth was kissing Will, and Geneviève had never, ever, felt such desire, such lust. Elizabeth made Will attractive. Elizabeth made Will desirable. Geneviève wanted something she couldn't have, and it was _because _she couldn't have it that she wanted it.

"Your right Jack," sighed Geneviève, feigning guilt and rubbing her temples. She smoothed her tangled hair and made to stand up. "And I'm sorry for…" she trailed off.

"That's quite alright, love. We were both drunk as hell. I know you didn't mean it, nor did I," drawled Jack. He sat up and got out of the bed, throwing back on his trousers. "Should be near Florida, and I'm hoping to stop in Key West…" his musings turned into mumbles which were no longer heard by Geneviève.

"Absolutely. I must get upstairs, they'll be expecting me," Geneviève babbled, pulling on her clothes as quickly as possible. She went to the door and opened it. "Goodbye Jack, and thank you," she sang, making her way back to the deck.

"Goodbye, love," he whispered as he pulled his shirt over his head. Had they been paying attention, they would have heard the tone of untruthfulness they both were speaking with.

Up on the deck, all of the men were working vigorously. The wind was picking up speed, as was the _Pearl._ Something was amiss.

"Oy!" shouted Gibbs, scowling at Geneviève. "Don't just stand there, gawking! Come an' help!" he roared. Geneviève snapped to attention and ran to pull the ropes as well. They were working quickly, as though something may be upon them, but nobody knew what.

_WHAM!_ With a lurch the _Pearl_ jerked to a halt. Geneviève screamed, and several people toppled over.

"We've run aground!" cried Ragetti, his hands twirling.

But that wasn't right, thought Geneviève as the world began to spin. No, the _Pearl_ was spinning, not the Earth. The ocean churned beneath them like an angry beast, sucking the imposing ship into the center of the maelstrom like a tiny, toy boat.

"All hands on deck! Man the sheets! Get the anchors outta your pants!" shouted Gibbs, but no one knew what to do. They ran around the deck like headless chickens. How were they supposed to stop it?

It was with a final giant lurch that the famous _Black Pearl_ was swallowed by the sea, along with everyone onboard.


End file.
